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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28879596">To-Do List (1984 Edition)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailingOnSunnySkies/pseuds/SailingOnSunnySkies'>SailingOnSunnySkies</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wonder Woman (Movies - Jenkins)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angsty ending (because canon), Basically Steve Trevor's thoughts throughout the movie, But no full out smut, Drama, Extended Scenes, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Missing Scenes, Spoilers, Steve Trevor POV, Suggestive Themes, Trying to fix plot inconsistencies, Wonder Woman 1984 (2020) - Freeform, wondertrev</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:42:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>19,434</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28879596</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailingOnSunnySkies/pseuds/SailingOnSunnySkies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at Steve Trevor's thoughts during his journey in 1984. He makes a to-do list. He reunites with Diana at a glitzy gala. He visits museums and soaks up culture. He helps Diana fight a magical entity at the White House. That last part wasn't on his list.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Diana (Wonder Woman)/Steve Trevor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Waking Up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The Wonder Woman sequel kinda depressed me. Partly because of Steve leaving (though that was a bygone conclusion) but partly because there were so many little plot issues and inconsistencies and disregard of DCEU canon. Like c'mon Patty, I know <b>'Batman v. Superman'</b> had a divided audience reaction (I kinda liked it, though I did watch the extended cut) and people hated <b>'Justice League'</b> (it was nice to see the actual JLA in live action; something the CW couldn't pull off in its Infinite Crisis crap) but there's <i>canon</i>. And when you can't even stick to the canon from the first Wonder Woman film, that's a big issue. I guess my hopes were too high after such an epic trailer. The best part of the movie was Diana and Steve but even that was botched because there weren't enough scenes with them. So I sought out to expand moments and add missing scenes for Steve Trevor and Diana Prince. Because all I wanted for Christmas (yes, I watched the premiere in a theater on Christmas) was more fluffy/sexy WonderTrev and less on-the-run, angsty WonderTrev.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was a certain disconnected confusion that came with waking up after a deep, deep sleep. Steve Trevor had woken up hungover after his 20th birthday getting blackout drunk with his platoon in France. He had woken up in the hospital, at the age of 9, suffering a concussion when he fell out of a tree in his backyard. Neither of these frames of references came close to the unsettling, groggy discomfort he felt as he opened his eyes after what felt like a long stretch of nothingness. A tan, ceiling above him. A stiff, lumpy mattress beneath him. A pattering noise in the distance. Quiet enough to go unnoticed but once it was caught, it was all he could think about.</p><p>He carefully sat up to take in his surroundings. He was in a room. Not a bedroom. And in fact, it was not a mattress beneath him. It was some kind of long, slatted, cushioned pallet. Not quite a chair but a distant cousin to it. He'd read about this in a book once. A Chesterfield? Whatever it was, it wasn't very comfortable and the material was strange. Not leather or velvet. He tried to stand up and nearly toppled backwards.</p><p>‘Okay, let's not do that just yet.’</p><p>This was not his room. Not the one in London. Not the one in the States. It wasn't like any room he had seen. So much clutter and garbage. He had to clear his mind of the strangeness. It was a pressure like a headache but more uncomfortable than painful. Like something big but intangible was being crammed into his head and it couldn't quite fit. He thought of the time he tried to stuff a small cat into a mason jar. To be fair, it was a tiny, stray kitten and a large pickle jar meant for hunting fireflies. And he was 5 years old, thank you very much. He pushed away that odd memory and shook his head slowly, afraid he might give himself an actual headache if he moved any body part too fast. He wasn't dizzy. He just lost his balance because he wasn't used to walking for a long time? No. That couldn't be right.</p><p>Backtrack. Had to backtrack. What was the last thing he remembered? it took him a solid minute before it came to him. A war. An airplane with gas. An explosion. He's supposed to be dead. The pressure in his head got intense for a moment before it eased. He had died. He was sure. Was this the afterlife? He heard dripping in the distance. Turned to see what looked like a sink behind half a partition. He decided that a dripping faucet was more indicative of Hell than anything. He got up and thankfully felt more steady. Walking past the papers and discarded socks, he headed to the kitchen, winced at the cold floor on his bare feet, but finally turned off that incessant drip whose noise was amplified by a couple of pots. Dirty dishes and a full trashcan in the small kitchen. Just great.</p><p>Taking a look to his left he noticed the oven and stove but a smaller box beside it. He furrowed his brow and a word came to mind. '<span class="u">Microwave</span>'. He nearly fell over again in his surprise because he certainly didn't know what a microwave was supposed to mean. But he saw brief flashes of images in his mind, using this microwave for TV dinners. He slowly walked backwards, hands up as if expecting that little box with the <span class="u">magnetron</span> and <span class="u">electromagnetic</span> waves to jump at him. He noticed a large white object beside it and initially wanted to say 'ice box' but again, a little memory supplanted '<span class="u">fridge</span>'.</p><p>It wasn't until he spotted a photo on a shelf that he started to form a theory. At the very least, judging by the 3 subsequent photos he found in his cautious exploring, the apartment belonged to the man in the photo. No other photos were found. Not a wife or kids. Not any parents or friends. Not even a dog. But he did see a tank full of fish. He let himself gape at the little '<span class="u">aquarium</span>', sure that he had only ever seen something called an aquarium at the London Zoo and it certainly didn't look like this. He wondered if he should feed the fish. There was a little shaker on the table underneath so he figured he might as well.</p><p>Feeding the fish led to him clearing the junk mail off the table. And as long as he was clearing that clutter, he figured it wouldn't hurt to clear off as much as he could. Surely he'd find some more information amidst the knick-knacks and the discarded magazines; and there were several different subscriptions ranging from National Geographic to MAD magazine. In fact there were several different odds and ends piled up in corners, in various bowls, and hung over every available chair and hook.</p><p>Cleaning helped him think. Even as a soldier, cleaning his barracks and his weapons was somewhat therapeutic. Allowed him to zone out and come up with an occasional idea. It was funny because he always hated cleaning his room as a child. He needed a mental to-do list. Put the discarded clothes in the laundry basket (as soon as he found where it was). Put the empty soda cans and take-out containers in a trash bag (after disposing of an already full trash bag). Organize the paper chaos into piles: bills, magazines, and what appeared to be work files.</p><p>It was a good two hours before he realized there was a mirror just a few feet from the fish tank. He looked into it and did a double take. That wasn't his face staring back at him. It was the face of the man in the photos. He turned away, not quite sure what to make of it. He was Steve Trevor right?</p><p>“Captain Steve Trevor. Serial number 8141921,” he muttered to himself.</p><p>His voice still sounded like his but memory was a tricky thing. A person could convince themselves they heard things or saw things that weren't really there. That weren't true. He had seen plenty of fellow soldiers experience it. People close to him. But he was so sure of his life during... '<span class="u">World War 1</span>'? Was there more after that global war? He rubbed his temples and tried to think. He could remember the life he had in the 1910s and before that. Growing up at his family ranch with his parents and little sister. The bright, bold enlistment posters at the town post office. His father's tired pride and his mother's sad eyes when he told them he was going to be a pilot for the United States Army.</p><p>But if he thought hard about it, followed the little threads that popped up when he looked at something unfamiliar and it was suddenly identified, he caught glimpses of another life. That of a man ‒ a mechanical engineer ‒ who was absorbed with his work and fretted over his looks. A man who had no siblings and an absent father. A man who had only recently made friends at his new job in a new city and started to branch out into the dating world after nursing a broken heart from a college sweetheart. He had a driver's license and loved to travel but had a fear of flying and lived vicariously through magazines and knick-knacks from other countries. Steve wanted to laugh about the fear of flying but he could understand it. He could even sympathize. He died mid-flight. By all accounts he should've felt apprehension at the thought of heights but he had always been a bit of a reckless idiot, unafraid of touching the clouds, whether through climbing thin, oak branches or hopping into an American biplane.</p><p>There were a couple of aviation books in the bookshelf. Did this man work on airplanes? He tried to chase the little lines and threads of another person's memory. Several little images popped up that corresponded with what he knew about planes but it was more complex. More modern. There were drawings, and numbers, and blueprints. He tried to dig deep for an image of a plane, even just the parts inside, but the phone rang and broke his concentration. He debated picking it up, hoping it wasn't someone wanting to talk to him. The decision was taken out of his hands when a recorded voice rang out proclaiming '<em>I'm not in right now, leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can</em>.' He marveled over the little device next to the phone ('<span class="u">answering machine</span>') and with bated breath waited to hear what would happen next. Another voice started speaking, claiming he had won some kind of sweepstakes. He picked up the phone and heard the tail end of the person's rehearsed speech. He tried to answer a few times before a frustrated memory popped up, identifying it as '<span class="u">pre-recorded telemarketing crap</span>'.</p><p>Hanging up, he sat on the lumpy, slatted not-bed and contemplated what to do next. All things considered, he felt he was handling this colossal shift in life rather well. Sure, as a spy, he had to learn to roll with the punches but this was just... fantastical. He couldn't think of anything else in his life that rivaled this experience. No wait. That wasn't true.</p><p>“<em>Diana</em>.”</p><p>Like a bolt of lightning, images of her flooded his senses. How could he have forgotten? She saved him the first time he thought himself dead (once again thanks to a crashed airplane). Diana... a goddess from a paradise island. She saved people. She believed in the goodness of man. He sacrificed himself for her. For the world. But the history magazines he had glanced at during cleaning showed that wars continued. His stomach twisted at the thought of her unable to prevent war because she died in battle fighting Ares. The little he knew about her mythology indicated that if Diana was a daughter of Zeus, she would be some version of invulnerable. Maybe even immortal. Although, some children of the Greek god ended up being killed in battle, didn't they? Her fellow warrior women were certainly susceptible to bullets. His knee started jiggling and he started to get worried. He needed to find Diana ‒ any sort of trace of her ‒ but he had no idea where to start.</p><p>Turning back to the telephone, half wondering if he could dial the operator and get some sort of lead that way, his eyes fell on a book.</p><p>“What kind of title is 'White Pages'?”</p><p>It took him a few seconds of thumbing through it before realizing it was a phone book. And there was his answer. He quickly flipped over to the 'P' section and that's where he found it. "<em>Diana Prince</em>." He smiled to himself, the first glimmer of happiness he had since he woke up. She kept the last name, all this time.</p><p>He grabbed the phone but he hesitated. His sudden, confusing return was the kind of information he needed to tell her in person. And that was if in fact this was his Diana. For all he knew, this woman had the same name as the amazing woman he knew years ago. He tore off a scrap of paper from one of the junk mail envelopes and scribbled down her phone number and address. He managed to find a paper map and he was quick to mark the path with a nearby pencil. He matched his current address on an electric bill to the corresponding point on the map and found she lived a couple dozen blocks away, near the Potomac River.</p><p>Over in the corner stood a bicycle that had two different coats hanging off the handle bars. He could halve a 90 minute walk with this bike. As soon as he set it upright he tried to look for the back wheel but found none. Maybe it was somehow hidden under the chassis? He got on the seat and pedaled. The pedals moved, and the front wheel moved, but nothing else did. He got off and inspected the bottom again. There had to be some kind of locking mechanism in these futuristic bikes, maybe as a theft deterrent? Was it meant to be ridden on the single wheel like a unicycle? He could try and probe his borrowed body's mind but he was getting annoyed. Now that his mind was set on Diana there was nothing else he could think about.</p><p>“Screw it. I've walked further.”</p><p>With the address and map in his pockets, he left the apartment in search for the one person who could make it all make sense.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This multi-chapter story will be from Steve's POV because I think tackling it from his eyes is best for missing scenes and extended parts. I'll try to fix the little story problems that bugged me but I can't say I'll be able to fix every plot hole. (At the very least I already addressed the man's lack of passport and lack of family - FYI, the mystery man's "memories", or mostly words of "future" things, will be underlined to separate it from Steve's memories).  I've got the whole multi-chapter story planned out. Let me know what you think in the comments.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Watching from Afar</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As a pilot, Steve was no stranger to exploring new locales. He navigated large American cities and small towns in Europe. But this place, Washington D.C, was a different kind of beast altogether. He recalled Diana’s curious uncertainty when she walked the streets of London. Of course, he was there to guide her then. No one was here to help him now. He really missed Diana. Even if she was as lost and confused as he was, he would’ve welcomed a familiar face beside him. Unless she was also somehow brought back into a different body like he was; then the face technically wouldn't be familiar. No. That would have meant she died at some point and he refused to accept it.</p>
<p>He had to stop fretting over Diana. Concentrate on navigating the streets. He could do it. He could adapt. At least he wasn't on the run from foreign enemies. He heard a few commuters grumble about "clueless tourists" so he leaned into that. Followed the crowd on the crosswalks and referenced his map every other block. Occasionally, he got a sort of ping in his head. It usually happened when he looked at something unknown, with confusion, and there came that silent thought ready to identify. <span class="u"><em>Yellow cab</em></span>, <span class="u"><em>CDs</em></span>, <span class="u"><em>rollerblades</em></span>, <span class="u"><em>TVs</em></span>, <span class="u"><em>Coke</em></span>, <span class="u"><em>spandex</em></span>.  He nearly ran into a lamp post gawking at a woman with a short skirt and ripped hosiery. He resolved to keep his head down and walk briskly. </p>
<p>Eventually, he caught sight of a couple large buildings beyond a park and wondered if he ended up getting lost. He needed to take a quick break. Pulling out his map, he saw he was near Georgetown University. Just a mile or two away was the Lincoln Memorial. He had read about its construction in the papers back in his time and was quite curious to see what it looked like. An image came to mind of a large white statue; <span class="u"><em>Honest Abe sitting down on a pedestal in all his grandeur</em></span>. He shook off the mental picture, grumbling a bit. He didn’t necessarily want that identifying ping. Kind of spoiled the surprise.</p>
<p>As he sat down on a nearby bench, he considered the images in his head. Were those images some kind of communication? This guy's way of trying to tell him something? He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, nerves jittering throughout his body.</p>
<p>"If there's someone else in this body, give me a sign," he said quiet enough so passersby wouldn't peg him as a crazy person.</p>
<p>He waited. He wasn't really one for meditation but he had to know if it was just him in here. If maybe the guy he was possessing died or if his consciousness was still in there, fighting to get out. He had spent enough time with Chief to know spiritual possession was something his people believed in, though Steve had dismissed it as something from old science fiction books. At one point, after a long night of debating (Chief would have described it as 'pointless arguing due to boredom'), Steve had been decreed an obstinate, narrow-minded mule. He didn't argue that point. The realities of war didn't give way to many flights of fancies and the idea of body possessing spirits sounded like something out of science fiction. </p>
<p>And then Diana came barreling into his life to knock him on his obstinate, narrow-minded ass. If Chief could see him now, literally in someone else's body in the future, he would've conveyed "I told you so" without actually saying the words.</p>
<p>Steve took a deep breath and tried to let go. Remembering the little he knew about spiritualism and connecting with cosmic energies. It was hard to block out all noise around him when years of training had ingrained him to stay hyper vigilant. He took deep, slow breaths and focused on them. Breathe in. Breathe out. <em>In</em>. <em>Out</em>. A breeze picked up, rusting the branches in a rhythm that followed his breathing patterns. The hardness of the bench, the distant conversations, the strong smell of exhaust... they were growing dim. His head dipped towards his chin and his mind was drifting away. Half lulling himself into a sleep.</p>
<p>A chattering squirrel snapped him out of it. It was right beside him on the bench, bushy tail flicking around. He fought the urge to jump to his feet.</p>
<p>“I don't have anything for you. Shoo,” he waved the bold animal away.</p>
<p>He frowned at himself. Looked at hands that weren't his and ran them through hair he wasn't born with. There was a watch on his wrist. He had been trying his little meditation stint for a solid 20 minutes and he got nothing. It was just him in there. If the guy didn't take control or reach out or at least send some tangible images in that time... then he wasn't there, right? Maybe the guy did die in his sleep and Steve was put into this "empty vessel" and woke up. Though why he still had access to the man's memories, as scattered and random as they seemed, he couldn't explain. Maybe it would fade in time. Besides, without the little mental manual on this modern world, he would be navigating it pretty much blind. He decided to count the small blessings and hoped for just one more. To find Diana. He got up, with renewed determination, and started walking down to the waterfront path.</p>
<p>All the determination and self-assuredness dissipated when he got to the address written on his scrap of paper. Before him stood the huge complex, like some futuristic hive of sleek window glass and white concrete. He stopped by the entrance and debated what he would do. There was an apartment number along with the address and he wondered if he should go inside and go straight to her room. Was there a front desk? A security guard inside? Such a large building would surely have some kind of security. '<span class="u"><em>Intercom</em></span><em>'</em>. That word meant some kind of doorbell and communication system that connected to a place with a separate doorbell. Ask around. Ring the bell. Follow someone inside. Survey the building. Come back another time. He wasn't sure what to do. He waited, for minute, willing inspiration to strike.</p>
<p>Then like a shadow from twilight mist, she appeared.</p>
<p>Diana's clothing was all black. Pants and some kind of loose blouse. She seemed lost in her thoughts. He had a vision of a wide-eyed optimist, eager to take down the hateful god Ares. But this woman was more subdued. More weighed down. If she did take down the personification of war, perhaps it leached into her very soul. She was tall and untouchable in her heels and solemn expression. But even through all that darkness, it was still Diana. His Diana. Achingly beautiful. Powerful and confident. He wasn't more than a few feet from the entrance, close enough where he could see the slight furrow on her brow. The different shades in her dark curls. She had to notice he was there. How could she not? As she went inside, he remembered why she had no reason to give him a second glance. He was no different from any other random stranger.</p>
<p>“Damn it!”</p>
<p>He couldn't find a voice to call her. Not as she walked past him, as she rummaged through her pockets for a key, or as she closed the door behind her and gave a cursory look backwards. But as soon as she was out of earshot, he cursed himself for losing his nerve. He headed towards the water. The brisk river air would calm him down. And if not, he could just drown himself for being such an idiot. If ever he needed a good idea, now was the time. He dug into his borrowed mind and got nothing except the images of '<span class="u"><em>jet skis</em></span>' and '<span class="u"><em>bikinis</em></span>'. And now he was picturing Diana in a bikini and that was not helping <em>at all</em>.</p>
<p>The sun was setting. It was closing in on 6:30 pm. He had been pacing for who knows how long and didn't come up with anything except for camping out at her front door and trying to explain himself in the time it took between her getting over her shock and then her throwing him through a wall for his audacity. He needed to get up to her place. Catch her while she was having supper. The longer he waited the worse it would be. He certainly didn't want to wake her up. A particular memory came to mind, in his younger years as a rookie, where he scaled the side of brick building and snuck into the place via window. He immediately discounted that idea due to the aforementioned "getting thrown through the wall" consequence.</p>
<p>Finally making his way back, he stopped across the street and saw her walk out again. No longer demure in black. She donned a flowy, white gown and he was gobsmacked. She looked like an angel. He was sure she'd fly off into the starry sky if she had half a mind to do it. Instead, her means of travel appeared to be a black car that stopped when she raised her arm. A taxi cab. Not a yellow one. And those costed money. Even he knew that much. And of course he didn't think to bring a wallet with him. He just ran out of the apartment with some half-baked idea he would find her and all would be right with the world. At the very least he did find her. And as she got into the car he realized he was about to lose her.</p>
<p>“Wish I got that bicycle to work,” he grumbled as he started in on his most harrowing mission yet; tailing an automobile through the streets of the United States Capital.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I debated whether or not to make this its own chapter. In the end, for me, it got too long to tack on to the gala scene and I needed to try and address that guy that Steve was possessing. You can't tell me Steve wouldn't be a bit curious about whether there's an actual soul in there with him, after being so well read and surely talking about spiritualism with the Chief/Napi. I'll explain a bit more about my take on the body-possession issue in a future chapter. Also, after checking google maps, it looks like the distance from Diana's apartment to the museum gala isn't too much (about a 50 minute walk if you aren't a super fast demi-goddess). I guess Diana has that 'eat out and take taxis' money.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Reunited at the Gala</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Following a car for a solid twenty blocks wasn't as difficult as Steve had first thought. He was always within one block’s distance from the car. At several points, the stop lights were in his favor and he could get ahead of the taxi. While he thanked the multiple cars slowing everyone down, he got a very distinct ping of '<span class="u"><em>damn traffic jams</em></span>'. He chuckled to himself.</p>
<p>Once he saw the car pull up to a brightly lit building, he hung back and waited. Observed. There were several well-dressed people. He looked down at the clothes he chose for himself out of the engineer's closet. A white shirt, a black jacket, and black pants. At the time it seemed fine. He had wanted to go for something a little more formal but this particular outfit caught his attention so he went with it. Now he was lamenting not going with his actual instinct of wearing a decent suit. Even if he didn't know Diana was going to some huge party at some large columned building, he should've made more of an effort to dress up for his first meeting with her in this new body. First impressions and all.</p>
<p>He watched her stride elegantly past velvet rope barriers and wondered what kind of high society function this was. A mental image of '<span class="u"><em>celebrity red carpet events</em></span>' and '<span class="u"><em>flashy movie premiers</em></span>' came to mind. He shook those images away because they didn't help.</p>
<p>“Focus, Steve. This is just like getting into Ludendorf's gala,” he whispered, trying to psych himself up.</p>
<p>Except back then he had time to procure the proper outfit and he had decent intel on how to speak while in disguise. He hadn't heard full conversations during his walk around Washington, when initially looking for Diana and then, well, stalking her car. But he did catch snippets that had some disconcerting words. Something that pinged as '<span class="u"><em>slang</em></span>'. Even if he managed to get back to his place, throw on something decent, rush back to this party, and sneak his way inside, he wasn't sure what awaited him in terms of conversation. Would people question him? Would they be thrown off by his speech? He liked to think he understood about 95% of what people around him were saying but still. That 5% was the difference between seeing her or being kicked out. Maybe worse.</p>
<p>Well, when in doubt, try for the direct approach. He had managed to get into a surprising amount of places over the years through sheer confidence and a self-assured smile.</p>
<p>“Stop right there, sir. Do you have an invitation?” A man in a suit stopped him before he could clear half the carpet.</p>
<p>“Invitation?” He made a big show of patting his pants pockets. “Oh, I'm so embarrassed. I left it inside when I came out for a little fresh air.”</p>
<p>The doorman did not look convinced. </p>
<p>“What's your name?”</p>
<p>He racked his brain trying to bring up any possible names he had gleaned from magazines at the apartment. He didn't want to use the engineer's name if he didn't have to. Can't tie the man’s actual name to this face. Just in case.</p>
<p>“Ah, Steven Rockwell.”</p>
<p>The doorman looked at a clipboard beside him. </p>
<p>“There is no Mr. Rockwell on my list. I'll have to ask you to leave.”</p>
<p>“Wait a minute, please,” he tried to offer one last smile, trying to gain some sympathy from the guard to his left who was watching with some minor amusement. “I actually came with someone else which is why my name isn't on there.”</p>
<p>“Move along or I'll have you escorted off the premises,” the man said with a gruff tone.</p>
<p>With a put-upon sigh, Steve nodded at both doormen and briskly walked away. He had about half a dozen other ways of infiltrating an enemy compound but the problem was which way would be best? He heard the name of two people beside him as they were let in and had committed their names to memory. He just needed a switching of the guard so he could try the direct approach again, use one of those names as his alibi waiting inside, and hopefully be let in. He really wished he was wearing a more formal suit for this, though. A collared shirt and tie would make the bluff so much more convincing. Perhaps a hat too.</p>
<p>Making his way around the side of the building, he walked for a little while before seeing someone come out through a side entrance. It was a large, heavy set man with stubble bordering on a beard. The white chef's hat on the man’s head was askew and the white apron over his wide frame was covered in various stains, including what appeared to be a green, herbaceous sauce in the shape of a pine tree. It was clear to anyone that he was not having a great night, rummaging through his pockets and grumbling through the cigarette in his mouth. It was also a chance.</p>
<p>“Evening,” Steve called out.</p>
<p>The harried chef glanced up for a second and grunted.</p>
<p>“You need a light?”</p>
<p>That got the larger man's attention. Steve didn't have the foresight to bring his wallet or any form of ID with him but he did think to pocket a hotel matchbook during his cleaning binge earlier.</p>
<p>“Thanks, mac,” the chef's face relaxed considerably after his cigarette was lit and he took a deep drag.</p>
<p>“You're welcome. So, are you working that big gala in there?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. Cooking for the big, fancy Smithsonian party. You'd think appetizers wouldn't be so much work since they're so small.”</p>
<p>“No, I get it,” Steve nodded, “And these high society types want everything to be perfect.”</p>
<p>The chef snorted, “Yeah. Donate a couple grand to the museum and suddenly they want their caviar on a golden friggin' spoon.”</p>
<p>The two shared a chuckle and he let the smoke die down before offering his most genial smile.</p>
<p>“My name's Steve and I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”</p>
<p>His lost invitation excuse worked much better on the chef taking a smoke break. They traded a few quips about the front doormen having high aspirations of being Secret Service. After thanking him profusely, and snagging a couple of clams casino, he made his way out of the kitchen and into the fray. If he thought the bright colors of the city were overwhelming, the kaleidoscopic lights inside were a staggering sensory overload. He froze and gave himself five seconds to take everything in. The heady perfume of both the men and women. The booming bass that vibrated the floor beneath him. The hot, glowing neon shapes that meant to draw people in like a moth to a flame. He started moving when he saw some older women in sparkly dresses giving him assessing looks.</p>
<p>The party seemed to be some strange imitation of the old European galas he had snuck into. Okay, he had only ever been to 2 but they were still more refined and classical than the blocky gold and white marble with garish lanterns all around. He sighed. He was getting distracted. He had to look for Diana. She could be anywhere. A woman in a dark skirt and smart blouse offered him champagne on a tray. He politely declined and kept moving. He made his way upstairs, hoping for a better vantage point. A lot of people were milling around, drinking. A few were pointing out the lit-up sculptures. Two of them were conversing on the staircase. He was trying to find the vision of white amidst all the black ties and sequins.</p>
<p>With a look at his watch, he noticed he had been wandering around for about 45 minutes. He was getting frustrated. He knew he went into every room but the building was so large and packed, he could have just missed her by seconds at any, if not several, points. He thought about staying in the most well-traveled room, wait to see if she would eventually pass by. He situated himself casually at a corner overlooking a large staircase and the champagne room. Though the more he thought about it, the more he felt like that was the wrong call, just standing there. Maybe it was his restlessness and impatience (he needed to find her!) but he wanted to walk around. Could he get away with asking around for Diana Prince, by name? Someone at this party had to know her.</p>
<p>He moved away from his corner and tried to find the most amiable face. Suddenly, he caught a swish of white out of the corner of his eye, coming down the stairs. It was her. Thank God.</p>
<p>“Diana,” he called out, almost worried he'd be drowned out by the music.</p>
<p>Once again she gave him that same over-the-shoulder, cursory look from back at her apartment and she kept moving. He followed her into the large, golden champagne room and tried to rack his brain for how to stop her. His gut instinct was to grab her arm and physically stop her from moving but common sense, or at least self-preservation, prevailed. </p>
<p>He could only repeat her name, dumbly, because... It's <em>Diana</em>. She was <em>there</em>. Right before his eyes. And she was responding to the name! Though it wasn’t the response he had hoped for. Yes, it seemed she had most definitely noticed he was following her for a while. But while she sounded aggravated, he figured she wouldn’t throw him through anything with all these witnesses around. Especially when the walls themselves looked so expensive.</p>
<p>She tried to escape him with clipped politeness, “Goodnight.”</p>
<p>“But...”</p>
<p>Once again she was leaving and he hadn't rehearsed any sort of speech to convince her who he was or how this was even possible. She clearly didn't recognize him, which he figured was likely but a part of him hoped, with all the amazing things he had seen her do, she might just have the power to see him. Really see him.</p>
<p>He scrambled for something to say. A dozen different words and images popped into his head. His memories of his previous life with her. Pings from that borrowed brain. He had to get her attention. He needed to get her away from all these distracting lights and people. He needed more time to explain.</p>
<p>"I wish we had more time!"</p>
<p>He blurted it out without thinking and at the very least it was enough to make her to stop and turn back. But the look in her eyes made him second-guess his certainty on being tossed into something. At the very least she could get away with slapping him soundly.</p>
<p>“Why did you say that?” She walked over to him, a cold look in her eye. “<em>Don't</em> say that to me. You don't even know me.”</p>
<p>"Yes, I do."</p>
<p>He took her hand ‒ her soft, warm hand ‒ and he put his watch into it. It wasn't his father's watch but the gears and dials beneath were the same even if the outer appearance was shiny and new. What he said next needed to be succinct and meaningful. Something only they would know. He thought about their final moments. The confusion and distress on her face as he tried to convey why it had to be him who got on that plane. She was still alive so he knew he did something right. He believed in her back then and he believed in her now; she would know it was really him. She had to. She just needed a little nudge.</p>
<p>“I can save today... but you can save the world.”</p>
<p>She stared at him in shock and for a moment he thought he blew it. Did he leave any sort of impact on her? Would she remember what those words meant? So many years had passed, an entire second world war! How delusional and self-absorbed was he to think a few days together would register as more than a blip on the life line of an ageless goddess? His heart stopped. Everything around them slowed down as they stared at each other. He prayed to whatever deity who deigned to bring him back that she would understand because he couldn't find the breath to even begin to explain. He was pretty sure he was a minute away from passing out.</p>
<p>“...Steve?”</p>
<p>His heart finally stuttered back to life and the world began to spin again the very second she said his name. The recognition in her eyes gave him hope but his name on her lips – it was all he wanted to hear since he first considered she could be alive in this strange, new world.</p>
<p>“Diana...”</p>
<p>“But how?” The incredulity on her face melted into a tentative smile and her hands made their way to his shoulders.</p>
<p>"I don't know," he whispered, his voice as shaky as his legs.</p>
<p>The near panic attack from earlier was worth it to have Diana wrap her arms around him. She ran her fingers through his hair and he glanced his own fingers along her spine. He was sure she could feel his pounding heart with how close her chest was up against his. When they pulled back, when she took another look at him and proclaimed with certainty, “It's you”, it felt like everything clicked into place.</p>
<p>No words were needed as they both leaned in for a kiss. One of reunion and joy. One of second chances. They found each other again. And they had time.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I added in some dialogue from the movie and will likely be doing that in the upcoming chapters with the two of them. Like Steve, I also tried to consider all the different, clever ways he could sneak into a presumably high-security museum party in Washington D.C. Of course looking at past real world events, why would a mere museum (even if it is the Smithsonian) have more security than the U.S Senate Capitol during a contentious ballot count? Yeah. So, I just said, to hell with it and had a chef on a smoke break sneak him in. I don't even know if there's a kitchen in the Smithsonian, let alone side doors, but there you go.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The First Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve got a chance to see the Lincoln Memorial with his own two eyes but he found it didn't quite live up to a certain statuesque vision in white beside him. Once away from the lights and loud music, he found himself relaxing and talking freely with Diana. Offering what little information he had on how he returned but letting himself joke around and flirt with her like he had always wanted to long ago.</p>
<p>A distant roar caught his attention and he looked up to see an airplane soaring high above him. It was so far away but he could see the lights and the silhouette of the wings; singular wings. Like some otherworldly bird.</p>
<p>“That's amazing,” he said, awestruck.</p>
<p>He laughed at himself for feeling so giddy over a plane, after everything he's seen. But then again, as soon as he woke up, he busied himself and tried not to dwell on anything that would cause some kind of existential crisis. He didn't give himself a chance to revel in the excitement of exploring a new, futuristic place. With Diana beside him, he could let himself feel it. He could trust she would be there and guide him through it. As he turned to see her grinning at him, he compared it to her cold, dark reservations of just a few hours earlier. It was a complete 180, and he let himself drift further back, to a young woman who saw the magic in a snowfall.</p>
<p>He grabbed her hand and twirled her around. He wanted to sway with her to a song of their own, unheard by anyone else. He could have said a hundred different things to her. How he wanted to get lost in her eyes. How her smile made him at once weak-kneed and strong enough to do anything. Her smell, her taste, how she felt in his arms and how she made him feel... but he was never much of a poet. And he defaulted to humor just to see if he could get her to giggle.</p>
<p>“Would you like to see my futon?”</p>
<p>They took a taxi to his place. He thrust the map at the driver and pointed at the little mark he made around his address. The rest of his time in the backseat was spent with her head on his shoulder and his fingers tangled through hers. He had glanced out the window once or twice before turning his attention to her. He nudged her foot and she looked at him, a questioning look on her face. He kept his face as neutral as possible but couldn't keep the slight smile from cracking on his face. She seemed to understand and nudged his foot with hers. They were soon engaged in a childish footsie war and it was just about the most fun he'd had that night so far.</p>
<p>He got bold and hooked his foot behind hers, pulling her leg towards him. She made a sound halfway between a gasp and a laugh before pulling her leg back. He never heard that sound from her before and was keen to hear it again. He slipped his leg behind hers and pulled her leg towards him once more and was rewarded with her quiet squeal as she pulled her leg back. It wasn't until the third time he did it that he realized the slit in her dress widened when he pulled her leg close. He got a good glimpse of a little scrap of lace above her upper thigh. Was there lace on her dress? It took a moment before he realized the lace was running across, towards either side on her parted dress, but it was too high up to be a garter and it seemed more angled. One more clumsy hook and pull revealed the slip of ivory-colored silk and lace between her hips. </p>
<p>
  <em>‘Her under...’ </em>
</p>
<p>He quickly pulled his leg back and cleared his throat. She waited a moment before she nudged his foot but he didn't engage. Diana gave him a look that almost seemed disappointed. Was she pouting?</p>
<p>“I, uh, don't want to give the driver a free show,” he whispered, hoping the dim lighting would obscure the pink in his cheeks.</p>
<p>Thankfully, the taxi reached its destination and they got out. The tinge of bashfulness faded but didn't disappear completely, even with her eager interest and touchy affection. She was practically dragging him into his apartment and he was all too happy to follow if his damn legs would cooperate. He stumbled over a chair and stumbled over his words as he talked about cheese on demand and phone books and how he followed her like a creep, and God bless her she was still smiling at him like he was saying all these stupid things on purpose to amuse her.</p>
<p>They tackled the elephant in the room: his altered appearance. He made himself really look at the stranger's face in the mirror. It wasn't as shocking as it was when he first caught sight of it earlier. That smile of hers really had a way of making him feel better. The fact that she said she saw him through the veneer definitely helped. While he was glad to have her affection, he didn't want to have to be jealous of his own, new body. He supposed it was better that the outside was decent to look at, if only for Diana's sake. He knew she was the selfless type to claim beauty was only skin deep but he would not have sought her out if he had been in the body of some toothless hermit.</p>
<p>A pang of shame and self-doubt went through his mind along with a word, '<span class="u"><em>therapist</em></span>'. He had said it out loud to try and project confident nonchalance to Diana but he decided that he really did like this guy. The photos and clutter may have initially read as self-absorbed bachelor but the flashes in his mind throughout the day had him realize the guy was lonely and wanted a new start in Washington after a messy break up. He may not have gotten his second chance but Steve would honor the guy and live his life as best as he could.</p>
<p>He turned to see Diana running her finger along the top of the futon. It was coy and suggestive and playful and innocent in a way only she could pull off. He swallowed back the sympathy he had over a man he'd never meet. He wanted to focus on her.</p>
<p>“So...”</p>
<p>“So...”</p>
<p>“I have wine. If you’d like some.”</p>
<p>“Sounds good.”</p>
<p>A few glasses in him dissolved any lingering nerves and they talked about what she'd done over the last few years. She spoke of their old friends. Charlie who married a feisty farmer's daughter back in his home country. It was the first time she had been to a wedding and she had wished for them to love each other until death; a wish they honored even through the hard times. Like when Charlie slipped back to the bottle.</p>
<p>"After he swore to give it up?"</p>
<p>She nodded.</p>
<p>"What would make him do that?"</p>
<p>"His son signed up to fight in the second world war," Diana said quietly.</p>
<p>At his somber look, she reassured him that she was there for him. They all were. They helped him quit after several months and he was there to support them whenever he could. He saw several of Sameer’s shows as he traveled around with a local acting troupes. Chief met up with her on several occasions to rescue imprisoned people during the war. Etta got married to a baker and had four beautiful children. They all lived fruitful lives and they all passed down the story about the hero who helped make it happen. The brave pilot who sacrificed his life so their children could live.</p>
<p>“We all remembered you. And we missed you. I missed you.”</p>
<p>“I missed you too,” he moved closer to her on the futon and placed his hand on her knee.</p>
<p>“I found your old house. After I saved enough money, I bought it. Trevor Ranch.”</p>
<p>He blinked a few times, the wine making him a bit slow. “You own my old house?”</p>
<p>“Well, I own the land. A relative of yours, a cousin of a cousin, is tending to the house after I gifted her the deed. I believe she pays taxes on the house. I don't talk to her often but I wanted to keep it in your family. Perhaps we could take a drive up there some time?”</p>
<p>He nodded quickly, “Yeah. Sounds good. I'd love to see the old place. See what's changed. See what's stayed the same.”</p>
<p>She smiled, “Good.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, good,” he breathed out and sort of leaned towards her.</p>
<p>“You seem a bit tired,” she said with a mischievous glint in her eye.</p>
<p>“I... yeah. You should put me to bed.”</p>
<p>“Do you want to finish your wine?”</p>
<p>He gulped down the rest of his glass and she let out a giggle. God, he loved that laugh. He knew he looked a little desperate but there was only so much resisting he could do thanks to ingrained manners. Especially when there was a gorgeous woman lounging on his futon with that damn dress splayed out teasing that little scrap of lace.</p>
<p>“Maybe you should have had something to eat. Since the wine is making you so tipsy.”</p>
<p>He looked over at the table and laughed as soon as she followed his gaze. She noticed it too.</p>
<p>“Not that neon orange spray monstrosity,” she crinkled her nose.</p>
<p>“Why not? Cheese does pair well with wine.”</p>
<p>He illustrated his point by picking up a Bon Appétit magazine from the glass table. It had a picture-perfect vineyard scene on the cover.</p>
<p>She laughed, “I didn't think you were a food magazine kind of guy.”</p>
<p>He shrugged, “I'm not but he is.”</p>
<p>A beat of silence. The comfortable, teasing atmosphere stilted and grew awkward. Or maybe it was just him. He knew what he wanted to do with Diana and he knew she wanted him too but this body... what if there was something wrong with his equipment? He had something completely new to work with and he wasn’t sure she'd like what she saw once the clothes were off. He didn’t even check to see. Everything felt normal but a horrifying thought pinged at him, ‘<span class="u"><em>performance anxiety</em></span>’. All his earlier confidence and ringing endorsements of the guy evaporated.</p>
<p>“What's wrong?”</p>
<p>“I love you, you know.”</p>
<p>She made a face as if she wasn't expecting him to say that. As if that wasn't supposed to be a problem.</p>
<p>“Me loving you isn't what's bothering me,” he clarified. “I just... you love me, right?”</p>
<p>“Of course,” she assured him, “I have loved you for a long time. I'm sorry I never got a chance to tell you but I am so glad I can do it now.”</p>
<p>“How can you still love me when I'm not me?”</p>
<p>She leaned towards him, warmth and understanding in her eyes, “But you are. You are the same Steve Trevor I plucked from the waters of Themyscira. I can see it in the way you talk. How you carry yourself. The twinkle in your eye. The warmth in your smile”</p>
<p>“You should be a poet,” he murmured.</p>
<p>She put a hand on his cheek, “The partner may be a little different but the dance movements remain the same.”</p>
<p>“But-”</p>
<p>“Do you want me to show you how much I love you on this futon? Or on your bed?”</p>
<p>“Bed.” At least that he was sure of. “This thing is really not big enough or comfortable enough.”</p>
<p>“And you did spend all day cleaning the bedroom,” she reminded him.</p>
<p>She led the way, and he still felt two different minds about the whole thing. Part of him, a large part obviously, wanted to take her and show her how much he wanted her. But that little nagging insecurity had him thinking he might not be good enough. She might have second thoughts once they broached this final barrier. Something about the way this body felt would clash with whatever memory she had of their first night together decades ago. And those were the worries if he actually got over any sort of, so-called performance anxiety.</p>
<p>He started to ramble about closing the blinds and turning off the lights. Made a half-hearted joke about muscle memory and his tongue being his favorite muscle and hopefully it would become hers. And then he turned around to see her naked on the bed. Her eyebrow arched as if to ask, ‘What are you waiting for?’</p>
<p>What <em>was</em> he waiting for? What was he worried for? This was Diana. Loving, compassionate, so wonderfully good Diana.</p>
<p>Within seconds, and with surprisingly little stumbling considering he had about half a bottle of wine in him, his clothes were off and he stood there. Facing her with the same bold certainty he did when she saw him in those mystical pools back at her island. Her eyes grew hooded. She had that same come hither look he remembered from Veld. A vision he had burned into his memory. The same way her eyes burned into his body, glowing like embers. His body was hot and flushed. He looked down, pleased that every inch of his excitement showed. </p>
<p>"He's got it," he reiterated from earlier.</p>
<p>"That you do," Diana murmured, making way for him to join her.</p>
<p>He climbed into bed. She hooked her legs around him he scrambled to stop himself from falling on top of her. She giggled and he realized his full body weight probably wouldn't hurt someone who could pick up a tank and crash through walls with ease. He huffed, amused. He shifted his feet wider, legs on either side of her hips, but otherwise didn't dissuade her; he wouldn't be pulling his legs away from her like she did from him back at the car. With his hands around her face, he kissed her. He ran his tongue over her bottom lip and her mouth parted. She tasted like wine and honey and salt and sea. Exactly as he remembered her. He had one last thought pop into his head, wondering if he tasted alright to her. Her encouraging moans were enough of an answer.</p>
<p>They spent the rest of the night getting reacquainted with each other in an age old dance.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know there's some controversy online about being intimate in someone else's body but I'm going by Pixar <i>'Soul'</i> movie rules (which debuted the same day that WW84 did). Basically, I like to think the soul of the 80s engineer is somewhere in the "Great Beyond" but his memories are in his physical brain and accessible for Steve until the soul-switch mistake is caught and the original soul is put back in his regular body. The 80s engineer is essentially Mr Mittens, which I think is a step up because the cat actually got a name in the Pixar movie while that poor schlub Steve is wearing did not.</p>
<p>Also, I highly recommend <i>'Soul'</i>. Their message of hope was more realistic and genuine than the overly idealistic one in WW84. (And it pains me to say that because I wanted to love WW84!)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Morning After</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mornings weren't necessarily one of Steve's favorite times of day. He was used to waking up around 6:30 am due to habits from the military but he was by no means a morning person. He decided he might just change that opinion when he woke up to see Diana's face beside his, relaxed in sleep. The sun stubbornly shone through half closed curtains on his side of the bed. He wasn't 100% sure there was a Greek god for the sun but if there was, he had to be doing this on purpose.</p>
<p>He watched the sun slowly move across her body towards her face, fascinated by the shifting shadows. There was officially no bad lighting for her. She looked like some golden goddess of light. The light was getting close to her eyes. If he were thoughtful he would get out of bed and properly close those curtains. Give her some more time to sleep and him some more time watching her like she was his own personal television show.</p>
<p>
  <em>'The sleeping angel program with limited commercial breaks for when you need to go to the bathroom.'</em>
</p>
<p>Which reminded him that his bladder was protesting the wine and water from a few hours before. He stayed in bed a little longer. Watched her nose twitch and heard the barest whisper of a sigh. Yeah, he should probably go to the bathroom soon before it got too hard to go.</p>
<p>She had turned to her side when he got out and he hesitated getting back into bed, not wanting to jostle her out of her precarious sleep. He stood there a few minutes longer, watching her from afar before feeling less like a loving boyfriend and more like a creepy voyeur. He wandered over to the kitchen and looked through the pantry for coffee. There were three different brands and that had him pause. He had never tasted coffee of the future. He decided he would make himself and Diana some coffee but in order to find out which one she'd like, he'd have to taste test all of them. The best one would go to Diana, of course.</p>
<p>It took him a little time fiddling with the coffee maker but he was proud he figured it out with no annoying mental pings. The first cup he tried was Sanka and he wasn't particularly enthusiastic about it. Tasted kind of weak. He looked over the ingredients and frowned.</p>
<p>“Decaffeinated? Then what's the point?” He huffed in annoyance.</p>
<p>The next two coffee brands definitely had caffeine in it. Folgers and Maxwell. The Folgers was hearty, nutty, and familiar. As for the Maxwell... hmm... he did like the sound of that name. Otherwise the coffee was rather similar. He drank half a cup of each brand and was staring at about 1 and half cups of coffee between three half-empty mugs. He probably needed something in his stomach. He immediately went to the fridge and opened the freezer, initially unsure of why he went in there or what he was looking for before he registered his disappointment. </p>
<p>There was no ice cream in there. Diana loved ice cream. That would've been the best breakfast ever. Coffee and ice cream. He wondered what sorts of new flavors they came up with in the past 60-something years. A trip to the ice cream parlor was in order. He stored away that idea in his mental to-do list. Something he decided to compile after Diana's suggestion to go to the family ranch last night. </p>
<p>There were so many things he wanted to do. But first breakfast. </p>
<p>“What is this?” He asked to himself as he pulled out a colorful box. “Pop-Tarts?”</p>
<p>He opened up a foil packet inside and found 2 large rectangular cookies inside. They were crumbly and a bit dry but once he reached the center, he hit pay dirt. A sweet jammy filling. He broke the second cookie in half and dunked it into his Folgers.</p>
<p>“Oh yeah... that's it.” These things were meant to be dunked into coffee. Brilliant invention!</p>
<p>He decided in lieu of ice cream, they would have cookies and coffee. He brewed both caffeinated brands and mixed them up into two mugs. The slight differences would balance out. Now the matter at hand would be if he should wake her up and bring her to the breakfast table or bring the breakfast table to her. He decided on the latter, sure that she's never had breakfast served to her in bed. Despite his lacking in flowery prose, he could be romantic when he put his mind to it.</p>
<p>He carried the two mugs into the room and had a foil packet of Pop-Tarts between his teeth. She was still asleep. He settled the coffee on the table beside her and slipped into bed. He never took her for a heavy sleeper, though, come to think of it, she did sleep surprisingly well the last time they shared sleeping arrangements. Not necessarily in Veld (okay, yes in Veld, and he was rather proud at how he tired her out that night even if it meant thoroughly exhausting himself) but on that boat as they left her island. </p>
<p>She had slept through the choppy waves and the rumbling ship towing them towards London while he battled mild motion sickness and the uncomfortable feeling of having a woman up against him and not being able to do anything because he was trying to be polite and she didn't even know what a man was let alone a very <em>pressing part</em> of a man that her leg had always seemed to find a way to <em>press against</em> (okay, yes she did see it back in the caverns but the water was cold and it wasn't on active duty, so to speak.)</p>
<p>Leaning back against the bed, he turned to watch her. The back of her head was very pretty but he would've liked to have seen her face again. He glanced down and noticed a few freckles on her shoulders and back. He noticed earlier, during his intense gazing session, that she had the faintest dusting of freckles on her face. He had a sudden impulse to turn her over and press his face right up against hers to really get a good look and count those little freckles. She would laugh at him, right? Think it was funny and cute? Not bizarre or distasteful? </p>
<p>His leg started jiggling on the bed and he took a sip of coffee to calm down. Okay, maybe that extra caffeine won't calm him down but it was giving him something to do. He wanted to keep watching her but he also wanted to wake her up and eat with her and talk with her and do other stuff with her (and to her). He looked down at his lap. Yep. One part of him was very much awake and ready for action.</p>
<p>“Every morning,” he muttered.</p>
<p>But he had Diana who could maybe help him out with this, right? Okay, there's no way he's waking up his girlfriend for sex. He had to be coy about it. He used to be good at this. Subtle and flirty. He was a spy for years, for Godssake, and he was acting like an impatient, teenage boy whose about to die if he doesn't get his girlfriend's hand on his private parts! He tore into the packet of Pop-Tarts and decided she wouldn't begrudge him if he started on his breakfast early. His mind zoned out as he munched on the crumbly pastry. He decided he could spoon her, press against her real close, and pretend he didn't know a certain part of him was insistently poking her. The perfect line would tie it all together.</p>
<p>‘Oh, what's that?’ (<em>No, too vague and it made him sound stupid. He knew what it was. She knew what is was.</em>)</p>
<p>‘Yes, I am happy to see you.’ (<em>Would she understand the innuendo? Maybe it's a bit too forward. Or maybe she might take it literally. Too many maybes.</em>)</p>
<p>‘Good morning, angel.’ (<em>Wait, 'angel'? Where did that come from? Morning sex might not be the best time to slip in a potential pet name.</em>)</p>
<p>Before he could think of any other options she whirled around, fully awake, and caught him mid bite. All he could think to gasp out was, “Hi,” before practically tossing the half-eaten cookie onto the bedside table. She was smiling at him. He decided he didn't need any sort of fancy preamble.</p>
<p>“Come here.”</p>
<p>She was happy to oblige, giving him a morning kiss and resting her head on his chest, listening to him talk about Pop-Tarts and coffee. He had forgotten to mention they were meant to be a breakfast in bed type of surprise but she didn't seem too disappointed. She was looking at him like he was the best thing he could have brought to her in bed. </p>
<p>‘<em>My God, she's amazing.</em>’</p>
<p>He tried to tell her and somehow ended up talking about how the room was amazing. Even so, she seemed to understand his tongue-tied babbling. </p>
<p>Her eyes twinkled as she agreed with him, “This room is the most amazing place...”</p>
<p>“It is! It's the most amazing place, right?” He flipped her to the side, taking in her face. Her beautiful, wonderful, amazing-ful face.</p>
<p>“..I've ever been in. In my entire life,” she spoke over his giddy rambling, mirroring his excitement.</p>
<p>“So, let's stay,” he decided. “We shouldn't go.”</p>
<p>“I really don't want to.”</p>
<p>“So, let's not.”</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>“Let's just stay here.”</p>
<p>“Let's just stay here.”</p>
<p>“Forever,” she sighed into his lips.</p>
<p>He was on top of her and thoroughly pleased with how that went. It couldn't have gone any better. She knew him so damn well and they were in complete agreement. They were staying in their room forever and to hell with his to-do list. He wasn't finished exploring Diana. He had freckles to count and kiss and lick and-</p>
<p>“Although...”</p>
<p>When she brought up the little issue of his mysterious return, his caffeine addled brain was quicker than the rest of him. Her words made sense and he was halfway towards the door before he realized she wasn’t following him. Come to think of it, he didn’t want her to follow him out of bed. They were supposed to stay <em>in</em> bed. What happened to forever? He turned to look at her, confused as to how he got tricked into leaving her side. He cast a suspicious side glance at the two empty coffee cups on the bedside table (yes, he finished Diana’s cup because he didn’t want it to get cold, and yes, he regretted it immediately afterward because he screwed up the nice breakfast in bed gesture but also because his left foot won't stop jittering and he supposed that this wouldn't have happened if he drank decaffeinated coffee but on the other hand, screw Sanka! That orange-topped, glass jarred bastard!)</p>
<p>She gently explained, “You know better than anyone that ignoring a problem doesn’t mean it will go away.”</p>
<p>He gaped at her, “I'm a problem?”</p>
<p>“No, sweetie,” she sat up in bed and stretched her arms over her head, limber and languid. “I just want to make sure you coming back doesn't lead to problems in the future. For my own peace of mind.”</p>
<p>It made sense. He scrambled over to the bed before she could think to get up. She gave him a hopeful sort of look.</p>
<p>“We don’t have to go right away.”</p>
<p>“No, we don’t,” he agreed. “Maybe we can’t stay forever but… how about an hour?”</p>
<p>She beamed at him. “Come here.”</p>
<p>He breathed into her hair, “Angel...”</p>
<p>“Hmm?”</p>
<p>“You called me 'sweetie' so I... never mind.”</p>
<p>She smiled at him, bemused. He decided his mouth had done enough mindless rambling. His lips were on hers, his arousal was pressed between her legs, and he was ready to put three coffee pots worth of stamina to the test.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>As funny as that scene was with Steve in bed eating a PopTart, I was kinda hoping for something a bit more romantic like him gazing at her when she woke up. I guess they played it that way for the younger audience. I wanted to get some sweet adorableness in this chapter but there's just too much fun to be had with a dude on a coffee buzz so yeah, I did make it a bit more rambly than usual due to the coffee thing. Also, I don't really drink coffee so I went off what I've seen in media and what I've read online. I have no idea which coffee is better: Sanka, Folgers, or Maxwell House. I just know they were around in 1984 (and one of them was chosen for a certain villainous connection... that's right, Max Lord drinks Sanka!)</p>
<p>I think this may be the halfway point. I've got about 10 chapters outlined and I flesh out and edit each one in the evenings, every other night, so don't worry about this being an unfinished story. Let me know what you think so far.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Playing Tourist</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Picking out clothes was not meant to be an ordeal. Not for men. And yes, it's a bit old-fashioned (as she had teased him when he brought it up) but clothes of the future were very different from the clothes in his day. He had only noticed what Diana labelled a "basic tracksuit" when he first opened the closet. That tracksuit was the tip of the iceberg. It seemed the engineer was as undecided about his clothing style as he was about his hobbies. </p><p>Flamboyant patterns, multiple pockets, and that dreaded spandex. He didn't think he could comfortably wear spandex as well as the ladies jumping around on the television did but Diana quirked a smile and set aside a pair of shiny, form-fitting pants. He refused to try them on but one look from her and he relented. In the apartment, for her eyes only. She agreed. </p><p>Of course her good mood was infectious and he did still have a bit of a caffeine buzz going as he tried on outfit after outfit. Some he picked out (the tucked in yellow tank top and cargo pants combo he was sure would win her over, especially if he flexed his arms. But she was not easily distracted - <em>“It's not good.”</em>).  Some she picked out (light gray slacks, a zebra-print scarf, and what had to be a woman's blouse. He adored her but he still had his dignity - <em>“I feel like a pirate. Who would wear this?”</em>) In the end, they settled on a variation of his earlier outfit; black pants, black jacket, white shirt. And the very useful little pack on a belt where he could easily access his wallet and ID.</p><p>Hand in hand, they left his apartment and set out to explore the city. He kept glancing around, squeezing her hand and subtly pushing her towards the sidewalk, away from the road, when he heard some particularly aggressive honking or the loud revving of an engine. He recalled pulling Diana back from an automobile's path when she first explored London but here in Washington, larger and sleeker versions of those automobiles – cars and buses and trucks – were everywhere and they were much faster. At least when they weren't caught in gridlock.</p><p>“Would you like to take a taxi or the subway?”</p><p>“What's a subway?”</p><p>That seemed to settle it. </p><p>“You'll find out soon. I see a subway station next block.”</p><p>The station was a set of stairs leading underground. He paused for a moment, thinking of bunkers and secret rooms. She seemed unfazed so he followed her lead. It wasn't dark down the stairs. In fact, it was well-lit and absolutely enormous. There was a large booth, half encased in glass in the middle. Large machines dispensed some kind of tickets on either side. And further in were metal barriers with a sturdy bar in between them. Watching someone go through, he was vaguely reminded of revolving doors at the department store years ago.</p><p>“Turnstiles,” Diana answered his unasked question. “I hear the train coming.”</p><p>They paid with fare cards and hustled over to a set of stairs. But they were moving. He paused and once again looked to her, to follow her lead. He nearly fell but with one hand gripping hers and the other gripping the handrail, he made it down in one piece. The movement of an elevator on something stationary like stairs – it was absolutely crazy! They got down just as a long train pulled in. The design seemed minimalist. No open windows like a tram and no pipes like a locomotive. He wanted to look it over, his inner mechanics enthusiast curious, but Diana pulled him close as a stream of people hurried out. He followed her to a corner seat and they sat down.</p><p>The seats were hard, divided into sections. The lights above were bright and tinged a faint yellow. He saw some strange lettering painted on a few walls and windows. When they moved, the lights outside passed by quickly until they were snuffed out. </p><p>“We're in a tunnel,” she whispered. </p><p>That made sense, he supposed. He'd taken trains in Great Britain before. Gone through mountain tunnels. But this all appeared to be happening underground, beneath a bustling city. The ride was over much too soon and they were at L'Enfant Plaza Metro station. He slowed his steps and she followed suit, letting him stay back to watch a train barrel right past him. The artificial lights and the mechanical stairs were at odds with the carved, stone ceilings and the cave-like tunnels all around. His heart would always be with flight but seeing the marvels of underground travel left him stunned.</p><p>They soon headed upstairs. He was pleased at how quickly he mastered the escalator on the way out. He slowed his steps and looked down, as if expecting to see or feel the vibrations from the underground train. He didn't, of course. Had barely felt it when he was a few feet away from the train. But still. He put 'traveling on the subway more often' on his mental to-do list.</p><p>Crossing the bustling, busy streets, they reached a large rotunda and he wondered what D.C. monument this was supposed to be. What was it honoring? The global American force? The eternal cycle of democracy? It turned out to be a large, round building that was home to the Hirshhorn Museum. And it didn't cost any money to go in. That was about the only thing that impressed him. He had never been to a museum and he didn't really have it high on his little list of places to visit (actually, he didn't have museums on that list at all) but Diana worked at a museum and she was eager to show him her world.</p><p>Though he wasn't as enthralled by the black circles stacked vertically or the large striped, ribbon thing, he made a good faith effort to take it in and really give some thought to it. As Diana said, "It's all art". Except when it was a trash can. Though to be fair, it was a very well designed trash can. Something he tried to explain as they made their way to the Air and Space Museum. His points fell flat when he saw several similarly shaped trash cans on the walk over but she was nice enough to agree that the trash can had more artistic effort put into it than the large, black rocks placed in various spots on the grass. Couldn't even sit on them. He would never understand modern art.</p><p>As soon as they got into the Air and Space Museum, he was enthralled. He took a pamphlet given to him by a man in a spacesuit (an honest to God, flew into outerspace suit!) and read the thing front to back within two minutes. It wasn't even close to enough information. Going down the stairs and looking over the beautiful, metallic crafts, he couldn't contain his enthusiasm. He never dreamed of seeing anything like this when he was growing up. Stories of men flying to the stars were simply that – just stories. There were ships, and rockets, and shuttles, and all sorts of names for what he had only ever thought an airplane could do.</p><p>He was practically dragging Diana around every single room and reading every single placard. From the Wright Brothers to Neil Armstrong, it was aviation history behind velvet ropes and glass cases. They had a plane from his time on display and he had half a mind to hop the barrier and take a seat inside to see if it still felt the same. If it still flew. The whole building had the feel of a hangar and that could be his plane waiting there after being checked over by a military mechanic. He felt Diana tighten her hand around his arm and he snapped out of his little daydream. He had actually leaned forward, one foot slightly raised. She raised an eyebrow and he offered her a sheepish smile. </p><p>After another lap around the museum to linger over the more modern aircrafts and to just stare up at the hanging plane (it looked so natural up there), they ended up at the gift shop. She offered to buy him a book on planes or perhaps a tiny replica of a favorite model. His eyes lingered on a shiny mirrored helmet that looked just like the one worn by the man in the spacesuit. It was meant for kids but maybe it would fit him. She noticed and smiled indulgently.</p><p>“Or,” she suggested, “Since I wanted to do a whole Smithsonian Museum tour, we could come back and get what you want. So, you don't have to carry so much around.”</p><p>“Yes, perfect! We definitely have to come back!”</p><p>This was going into the mental to-do list and underlined three times: 'come back to this museum and take the subway to get here'. </p><p>As they walked across the park he finally understood Diana's passion for art. He never thought there could even be a museum for airplanes. He had always pictured it as something for paintings and fancy statues but her museum tour was surprising him. They headed up to the Sculpture Garden and then over to the Museum of Natural Art. He liked the natural art more so than the abstract mishmash, though he wouldn't say the latter part to Diana. Okay, he did mention that the Natural Art Museum was a taxidermist's wet dream, which netted a burst of giggles from Diana (something he was particularly proud of).</p><p>“We should stop by my office. It's not too far and I wanted to pick something up that might help answer some questions about your situation.”</p><p>Oh right. The different body thing. He had completely forgotten about that during their little stint playing tourist. She had called into work and taken the day off so he had assumed they would spend the whole day and evening together. Maybe go to a nice restaurant and try some future food. Well, a brief detour wouldn't hurt.</p><p>“Sure. Let's go. Lead the way.”</p><p>The smell of something meaty made his stomach growl. She noticed, because of course she did, and she led him to a hot dog cart. He ended up eating three fully dressed hot dogs and half a large pretzel (he shared the other half with her). Downing a can of soda, he noticed the amused look on her face, as if she was looking at a puppy dog making a mess. </p><p>“I think you enjoyed those hot dogs even more than I did the ice cream you bought me.”</p><p>“You mean because you didn't shove three ice cream cones into your face.”</p><p>She laughed, “Well, we didn't have lunch yet so I can understand the enthusiasm.”</p><p>That look stayed on her face and he flushed in embarrassment. He just knew there was something on his face. She darted forward and kissed the corner of his mouth. He was caught off guard.</p><p>“You had mustard there,” she said with a cheeky smile before turning to lead the way. </p><p>He decided that for dinner, he would get something with lots of mustard on it. Or maybe get her something saucy. Though the way she was acting and the looks she had been giving him, she was plenty saucy on her own. He found his napkins (what a great little invention this pouch was!), cleaned himself off, and quickly caught up to Diana, taking hold of her hand and walking alongside her.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I extended their sightseeing for most of the day (the movie vaguely implies they saw the train and museum stuff on the way to her work) because Diana should have rightfully taken the whole day off for her back-from-the-dead lover. Like, come on, he deserves that much. A whole week off if he was in his original body! Also, I've been to Washington D.C. once a few years ago but everything about Steve's city experience, I used New York as a reference because I live in NY. So, if it sounds a bit off to any native Virginia/D.C. residents, I'm sorry. I do also google stuff but the MTA subway, the MoMA, and the Intrepid museum work so nicely in place of their Washington counterparts.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. A Flight to Remember</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A missing stone. Chaos and confusion over a little missing citrine stone. Of course, it was an all-powerful, god-created stone. But it was still crazy to see the crowds of people and dozens upon dozens of cars at a standstill, all clamoring to see a man called Maxwell Lord. After getting some information from Diana's friend, Barbara, they had a mission. Find Maxwell and get back the stone. They made it all the way to the man's office through a back entrance. Steve had posited that the stone that brought him back was powered by love or hope. The tinge of fear in Diana's voice seemed to suggest otherwise.</p>
<p>When he found copies of 2 airplane tickets he forgot her worries and his own. </p>
<p>“You have a plane that can fly from here to Cairo in one shot? That's amazing!”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but we can't get you on one because you don't have a passport,” she said, mulling over their dilemma.</p>
<p>He couldn't help laugh, blurting out what was on his mind, what had been on his mind since he saw that fantastic feat of engineering soaring through the skies above the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool.</p>
<p>“I don't wanna get on one, I wanna fly one. I wanna fly the plane. I wanna fly <em>this</em> plane.”</p>
<p>It was lighthearted musing. Not meant to be taken seriously. If it could distract Diana from worrisome thoughts, all the better. But when he looked up to see her contemplating his spoken thoughts, he paused.</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>They stopped at his apartment to eat and come up with a plan. All she had to say was that she could get him access to a plane and he was immediately onboard with whatever came next. A plan that involved breaking and entering with a little added theft to boot. It was very much in his wheelhouse. He had thrown out three different ideas on how they could sneak into the place before she interrupted him and showed him her badge. Out with the subterfuge and in with the direct approach. It hadn’t steered him wrong yet.</p>
<p>Time was of the essence so they couldn’t hammer out the details but they had a solid plan and they hailed a cab. He was nervous and anxious and above all <em>excited</em>. On the ride over, she had asked him if he was sure he'd be able to do it. He assured her that he knew machinery. He knew airplanes. He memorized the placards of all those modern bombers and turboprops. Leafed through the aviation book at the apartment (which was focused more towards commercial airliners). While there were more bells and whistles, the core was the same.</p>
<p>They got out of the taxi and with a flick of her badge, they made it through the electric doors.</p>
<p>“You wanna choose?” She asked, turning back and letting him lead the way.</p>
<p>“This one!” He honed in on it the moment he stepped through the glass doors outside.</p>
<p>“I like it,” she called out to him.</p>
<p>It was a two-seater, a fighter jet if he remembered the placards correctly, with a pointed nose and dual fuel storage in those beautiful, expansive wings. It had been modified and donated by a high ranking general with a gearhead background, having retrofitted the armament chambers with extra fuel canisters. His mind was racing a mile a minute but as soon as he got behind the seat, he became laser focused. He looked over the dials. He was in his element. Navigation. Fuel. Altimeter. Engine. And no matter how complicated these things got, there was always a button that started it up.</p>
<p>It wasn't until they were moving that he let out a laugh of relief and joy. All the confidence in the world was worthless if the plane couldn’t get off the runway. There was a hiccup, of course. It wasn't his first time "borrowing" a plane while being pursued by angry officials. But it was his first time hearing about radar. That lit a fire under his ass.</p>
<p>“Wait, shhh, I know!” Diana came up with a plan on the fly, so to speak, as the trucks were getting closer. “I know... Focus. <em>Focus</em>.”</p>
<p>It seemed hard to focus with the sirens blaring behind them and if he could just get a little more propulsion, he knew he could get them up. The radar would still be a problem but if her plan worked (her crazy magical cloaking power as given to her by Zeus, apparently!) they would be clear. The blockade a half mile ahead was making him more than a little nervous. He didn't want to hurt those security guards and he definitely didn't want to damage the jet. Diana was doing who knows what beside him so he could only do what he knew how. The wings were angled for lift, the lever was pulled for thrust. He was shaking and he let out a mighty yell as he gave it all he had... and got the jet into the sky.</p>
<p>They were well into the clouds before he let himself unclench everything. He looked over the side of the window, half expecting to see a missile hurtling towards them. There was nothing there. Not even the wing of the plane. It took him a moment to register Diana's plan had worked.</p>
<p>“An invisible jet,” he breathed out, astonished.</p>
<p>She turned to grin at him and he returned it right back. The adrenaline of their great escape thrummed in his veins. He was reckless and free high above the clouds. After catching sight of a completely different kind of bright, colorful spectacle he turned the jet towards the fireworks and watched the kaleidoscopic streams of light shower over the windows. It felt otherworldly. Like the mysteries of the universe unfolding before him. He was flying through fire and light with a goddess beside him.</p>
<p>“You know it's the one thing,” she turned to him. “The one thing that's always been new to me.”</p>
<p>He looked over at her, keeping his voice quiet so as not to break the sense of hushed awe. </p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Flight. Your gift. I'll never understand it.”</p>
<p>This woman never ceased to amaze him. Even when she herself was amazed. With all her strength, her knowledge, her power, how could something like flight escape her grasp? He remembered the high jumps she had made when they first met, an entire generation ago. He was sure with enough speed, she could reach high enough to touch the sun.</p>
<p>“That's... that's so easy, really.”</p>
<p>He could talk about the specifics. About the gears and levers and what made a contraption of metal and glass light enough to defy gravity. But in the end, that would be a jumble of jargon that didn’t capture how he felt. And if he was honest, he didn't build planes so the technicalities eluded him. What he did know was something not taught in books. The curious spirit that inspired the first man to look beyond the limits of the earth towards the endless horizon.</p>
<p>“It's wind and air and knowing how to ride it. How to catch it. How to... join with it. Yeah. It's like anything, really.”</p>
<p>He put his hand over hers, wondering if she understood what he was trying to convey. At the very least, he hoped she knew this was a part of him, a part of his very core, that he was willingly sharing with her. She smiled at him, soft and serene. She knew. </p>
<p>They flew on. The droning of the plane was a pleasant background noise. An occasional bird flew beside them, hovering close but seemingly aware of their presence. A light smattering of rain left crystal droplets on the window. Hours ticked by.</p>
<p>“It'll be some time until we make landfall. Even with the extra fuel on board,” his statement was punctuated with a yawn.</p>
<p>“Too bad there's no radio on this thing,” she said, looking at him with a hint of worry.</p>
<p>“We could talk,” he suggested.</p>
<p>Diana was a surprisingly engaging storyteller. She regaled him with stories of her childhood and he offered a few fond memories of his own. She spoke of her first riding lesson on a beautiful, white mare, all under the guidance of her aunt. He also had a riding lesson as a child, where the only real lesson he learned was not to hop on the back of his neighbor's cow. He was just lucky he didn't try to get on top of the bull.</p>
<p>She laughed at that and offered more mischievous escapades. How she picked berries to help cook jam for the other women on the island, and how she was barred from doing anything more than berry picking when she mistook salt for sugar in the kitchen. His own cooking experiences were tame in contrast. Just hours of peeling bushels of potatoes once a month for potlucks and chasing small animals away from the lettuce patch during the summer. When he discovered the existence of potato salad in this time period, it made his hands and feet twitch uncomfortably.</p>
<p>There was a particularly long story that had him riveted. An Amazonian horseback race meant to be more friendly than competitive. Somewhere between training and exhibition games. And a young Diana had managed to convince her overprotective mother to compete in the race against grown warrior women.</p>
<p>“You beat all of them, I know it,” he said with a grin. </p>
<p>“No. Actually, I was disqualified in the end.”</p>
<p>He did a double take. She didn't seem too bothered by it but he didn't ask her for details. It was impressive enough in itself that a child had the courage to compete with women twice (or maybe hundreds of years) her age. Through her stories, he got a more detailed picture of the island he had been on for about a day and a half. And the impression he had in those hours were limited to "Burning truth rope. Glowing, healing water. Beautiful warrior women." He smiled to himself as he looked next to him, to the most beautiful one of them all. She noticed his moony-eyed expression.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“I just... I wish I could take you back there. The way you talk about it.”</p>
<p>“It's not possible,” she sighed.</p>
<p>“Why not? If you can cloak things with magic, the same magic that hid your island, why couldn't you uncloak it? I could retrace my flight path from Turkey. It doesn't have to be in one go. We can map it out. Do a grid. I can get you down low and you can, I don't know, try to sense it.”</p>
<p>She seemed to consider what he was suggesting, “I don't know...”</p>
<p>“We can at least put it on the to-do list.”</p>
<p>“To-do list?”</p>
<p>“What?” Oh. He said that out loud. "Yeah, just, umm... there are things I might wanna try while I'm here. Got a little list up in my head. I should probably write it down at some point.”</p>
<p>“Oh? What else is on your list?”</p>
<p>He heard the tinge of amusement in her voice and he went with it. </p>
<p>“Nothing we can do in this plane. Well, maybe a few things but not if we want to keep it up. The plane, that is.”</p>
<p>“It's not like you haven't crashed a plane before.”</p>
<p>“Very funny. I'll just skip the, uh, more racy things. I was actually  thinking go to a drive-in cinema. Visit one of those amusement parks I've read about. Take a drive up to the old ranch like you said.”</p>
<p>She hummed in agreement.</p>
<p>“You got anything you want to add?”</p>
<p>“Everything on your list sounds good to me.”</p>
<p>“There's got to be something you want to do. Anything.”</p>
<p>“Anything?”</p>
<p>“Absolutely anything you ask me to do, I'll do,” he promised.</p>
<p>She pondered it for a moment, “How about have breakfast? Wake up. Read the paper. Go to work...”</p>
<p>“...Get married. Make some babies. Grow old together.” He finished.</p>
<p>It was the right thing to say judging by the way her eyes shone at him. After everything she'd done, if all she wanted was him, how could he deny her that? He vowed then and there, among the cloud-speckled skies and whatever God existed beyond, that the number one priority on his list was to make Diana happy and keep her happy. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her smiling softly. A halo of sunlight around her from the approaching dawn. Yeah, he could keep her happy.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I originally got my fic title from their airplane scene as I envisioned an extension of it in my head. With Steve piloting the plane (and the hours it would take to fly), they would need to stay awake so they would talk about plenty, including things do when "there are no wars to fight". I like to think a to-do list is a natural extension of that conversation they had in Veld in the first movie. Also, it should be said I know nothing about airplanes and there's only so much online searching I can do. Any pilots or actual aviation people reading can feel free to correct me on the details (though I tried not to put too many flying details in there).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Lost Days of Cairo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The view of the pyramids of Egypt was truly one to behold. Particularly when soaring 20,000 feet over them in a semi-controlled descent. Every last ounce of fuel was gone when they ended up in the middle of the desert, closer to Giza. The jet remained invisible but he wondered how they would get back to it. She placed a hand out in front and offered the barest of smiles. She could sense the cloaking. Which meant perhaps, after all this was over, they could find her homeland together.</p>
<p>After two hours of jogging in the arid, desert heat, they reached the city limits. He had some truly horrible boot camp days in his time with the army but this felt like he ran through Hell itself to reach some foreign Purgatory. Diana found the nearest bank and made a hefty withdrawal. The first thing she bought them was some ice cold water. It was the best thing he had ever tasted. The second thing she bought was a map, then after giving him a quick once-over, she grabbed some sunscreen. He frowned as he touched the back of his neck and winced. His fair skin was not used to the Middle Eastern sun.</p>
<p>They took to the streets in good spirits. She had the name of the man who was on the magazine cover in Max's office. The so-called 'King of Crude'. It was their only lead. The people she had talked to were unwilling to offer any sort of information about the man's whereabouts. As they stopped in a shop for lunch, she studied the map. There were several large estates labelled on it. And the reputation of the oil sheik pointed towards one of those large estates being his. She ordered food for him, some kind of meaty stew and flat bread. It was pretty damn tasty, if not a little spicy. He downed two more bottles of water by the time lunch was over.</p>
<p>“You think maybe the locals might have heard something about Max Lord visiting?”</p>
<p>She paused and considered his suggestion. “It wouldn’t hurt to ask about him as well. And I think I know where to start.”</p>
<p>They took a taxi all the way to the airport, deciding if anyone would have information about him, it would be the agent for his airline of choice. She talked briskly but politely with two different agents who were wary to give out too much information, despite her showing them the airline tickets. He only recognized words like "Washington D.C." and "Smithsonian" before they left to get a manager. The man who came over looked at her with disdain and he already knew she wouldn't get any sort of headway trying to spin a story about tailing a man with a stolen artifact from a national museum. But Diana was clever. Her serious face slipped into a warm smile. She pitched her voice higher and even laughed a little at some comment the manager said.</p>
<p>Once they left the airport, he gave her a look and she smiled, pleased with herself.</p>
<p>“He arrived about an hour ago and took a taxi to the Marriott Hotel.”</p>
<p>The sun was setting when they arrived to the grand hotel but they didn't get much from the front desk beyond a confirmation that Max Lord booked a room with them but was out at the moment. It was decided they would stay there too and wait it out. He would have to return at some point. As they walked to their room, he took a moment to survey the Marriott. The hotel itself was beautiful. He had never been in such a luxurious accommodation. There was a classic sort of feel to the architecture with its arches and tall windows. But there were touches of gold and colorful paintings that seemed, to him, Arabian. They had one of the few remaining rooms towards the back end with a king size bed.</p>
<p>“I've never been to Cairo before,” he said, gazing out the window overlooking the Nile River.</p>
<p>“I haven't either, actually,” Diana said, taking her small bag into the bathroom to change.</p>
<p>“I know we're on a mission and all but...”</p>
<p>“You want to do some exploring?”</p>
<p>“It beats being cooped up indoors.”</p>
<p>She popped her head out of the bathroom door and arched her eyebrow, “You don't think we can find something to kill time in this room?”</p>
<p>They did manage to kill a good hour and a half. Through a fit of gasps, moans, giggles, and a surprised yell, they ended up losing their clothes amidst the duvet and bedsheet that got tangled all around them (why a hot-weather country needed all those blankets, he would never know) and they broke the legs of a plush chair that turned out to be more ornamental than sturdy (it held their weight just fine for the first ten minutes and then Diana had to start bouncing – the gash on his leg after he fell was worth it, though). Not wanting to face the cleaning staff, they hightailed it out of the hotel and hailed a cab.</p>
<p>Soon enough, they were in downtown Cairo. Looking out the taxi window gave Steve the strangest mix of déjà vu and unfamiliarity. There was a whole city in this desert. Same cars and tall buildings as Washington D.C. But there were also the more humble stores with the cracking paint and baskets upon baskets of food, both dried and fresh. There were pockets of an older, more timeless Egypt where the stone and sand met concrete and metal.</p>
<p>At the suggestion of the cabbie, they ended up in front of a movie theater. It was "classic movie night" which pleased Diana who apparently had an affinity for the golden age of Hollywood over the flashy action movies of the 80s. They watched something called 'The Wizard of Oz'. Though he couldn't quite follow the plot (it was in Arabic with no subtitles) he was mesmerized by the colors, the costumes, and the slow singing of Dorothy. </p>
<p>He raved about the movie all the way back to the hotel. She had humored him the whole way and he didn't notice the pinched look between her eyes until they were under the bright lights of their room.</p>
<p>“Diana? You okay?”</p>
<p>“Hmm? Yes, of course.”</p>
<p>“Okay... You want me to check on the front desk? Try and get an update on the Max Lord situation?”</p>
<p>“Ah, yes. Please, if you can,” she smoothed back her hair and headed towards the bathroom.</p>
<p>After a quick look back at her to make sure she wasn't sick (could goddesses even get sick?) he headed downstairs and worked his charm on the small, brown-eyed young lady who worked the evening shift. She was courteous but steadfast in refusing to give their target’s room number to him. After a bit of needling, he managed to get from her that Max did not in fact return to his room. It was empty but paid for. That had him confused. He returned to their room to give Diana the news and found her in bed already.</p>
<p>“You tired?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I suppose so. The heat of the earlier day is catching up to me.”</p>
<p>“Well, good news is he hasn't checked out yet. Bad news is he never checked in after leaving to wherever it is he went to today.”</p>
<p>Diana pursed her lips and he climbed in bed beside her. They would need to get to sleep soon so they could get an early morning start. As soon as he felt her foot graze his, he decided they could spare an extra half hour. Judging by her pleased sigh as he rolled onto her, she seemed to agree.</p>
<p>The man they were looking for lived in an ostentatious palace overlooking the city. That much was gathered the next morning as they stopped at a newspaper stand and saw a magazine with a feature on the favored Cairo son. She bought an issue, breezed through the article for any details, and frowned. According to what she read, there were patrolled guards within a mile of the place. She wanted to avoid any sort of violent confrontation if she could. But with so many roads headed north, on either side of the Nile, they had to find right one.</p>
<p>“Maybe just keep trying different roads until we hit a bunch of armed guys in jeeps. Then we'll know we're on the right track.”</p>
<p>She looked at him as if that was the most idiotic idea ever. But since no other ideas were brought forward, they went with it. Their taxi driver was a jovial old man who spoke about his three sons through broken English. Diana, normally patient and cheery, seemed to hit her limit around the five mile mark so Steve tried to take help out with his smattering of Arabic. It was one of the more interesting conversations he'd ever had and he didn't understand 80% of it. </p>
<p>When the taxi stopped he had expected to see a fleet of swordsmen in banded headdresses. Instead it was just a long stretch of desert. They had run out of road and the taxi driver sounded a bit confused. Diana simply directed him to turn around. Steve took a look at her map, the little notes she scribbled on the margins. This was their best guess out of all the roads leading north to large, private residences. </p>
<p>They ended up making five separate trips, each time hitting sandy dead ends, or on one occasion, crossing over into another country. The taxi driver had grown anxious by the time night fell and Diana offered an apologetic smile, tipped him heartily, and got out in front of their hotel. Hours of driving and nothing to show for it. One last hope remained as they strode into the hotel and asked if Max Lord had returned. Where stern words and plucky grins got very little, a hundred dollar bill finally got them something substantial. They got his room number (which was paid for until tomorrow) and they got precise directions to the estate of one Emir Said Bin Abydos.</p>
<p>Diana had wanted to leave straight away but he convinced her to head upstairs first. Wash away the dust and misery of the day. She resisted for a moment before conceding. He tried to cajole her into showering with him but she stayed by the window, watching the clouds obscure the waning moon. She was worried. So was he.</p>
<p>“We finally have proper directions. We should be following this lead,” she said quietly.</p>
<p>“They said the room was paid for until tomorrow, which means he's staying until tomorrow,” he said as he walked over to her.</p>
<p>“Or maybe he'll leave tonight. He has enough money to pay an extra day.”</p>
<p>“Then we'll get him when he's back in the States. We know where he works. And we can find out where he lives a lot easier in our country than we can in this one.”</p>
<p>He was behind her and he wrapped his arms around her middle. Her arms were at her side caught between his. He felt her trembling against him and he pulled back and turned her around. She looked up at him with wide eyes, confused.</p>
<p>“You're freezing!”</p>
<p>“What? No,” she shook her head softly, “I don't get cold.”</p>
<p>“The way you're shaking says otherwise.”</p>
<p>He pulled her away from the window towards the bed. She followed him, docile, wordlessly. It was so unlike her. Once in bed, he pulled the covers up over them and held her close. Under the cover of darkness he asked again.</p>
<p>“Are you okay? You have to tell me if something's wrong.”</p>
<p>“I don't want to worry you.”</p>
<p>“By not telling me? By making me assume the worst? Diana...”</p>
<p>“Steve, please. Just hold me.”</p>
<p>He did. Because she asked. And he would do anything for her. He felt the tightness in her back and ran steady circles across her shoulders. Down her spine. Her shaking slowed into a more relaxed little shiver. She sighed into his neck and he rubbed her back, thinking about how wide and haunted her eyes looked just a little while ago. He felt the sun-warmth radiate from her skin as she sank into his chest. Under the moonless, desert night they slept cocooned away from the world. </p>
<p>Until the glaring sun and a stroke of luck had them cross paths with the mortal man who harnessed the powers of a god.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This was the hardest chapter to write because it's essentially a whole new scene and set in a country and time period I don't know well. I wrote and rewrote this thing so many times, still not 100% happy with it, but I didn't toss it out because I refuse to believe they landed the invisible jet in Egypt and stumbled onto Max Lord in that same day. They deserved some Veld-style downtime like from the first movie so I gave them a few days, with some nice sightseeing but also some angst (and cuddling!)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Realization</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There were three things Steve learned after chasing an American oil magnate down the highways of Egypt. First, the tanks of this country were just as straightforward (and idiot-proof) as the ones from the United States, several decades back. Second, watching Diana fight and struggle and suffer injuries never got any easier, especially because she didn't shake them off as quickly as she had in the past. Third, riots in the streets of a city separated by a mystical wall made for a good distraction when sneaking into their hotel room for Diana to change out of her armor. They got one last piece of information via pay phone before heading to the desert and getting into the invisible jet. </p>
<p>The long flight was silent for the first few hours. He had half-hoped she was sleeping. God knows she needed the rest.</p>
<p>“When I told you I was fine...”</p>
<p>He turned at her voice. She was looking straight ahead at the clouds in front of them.</p>
<p>“...I was not entirely truthful.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” She still didn't look at him. “It has been happening little by little. Since the night you came back. I've been feeling... weaker? I'm not sure. I thought I was just tired but it's more than that.”</p>
<p>“Maybe it has to do with that stone?”</p>
<p>“Maybe. Probably.” She finally turned to him, “I'm sorry for not telling you sooner.”</p>
<p>“Hey, no,” he was quick to reassure her, "I've been there. I once suffered through trench foot and a nagging cold because I didn't want to slow down my platoon. We're all trying to put on a brave face. Be strong.”</p>
<p>“But I need to be strong more than anyone,” she murmured. “There's so much at stake if I'm not.”</p>
<p>He didn't know how to argue that because she was right. He could only reach out for her hand and offer whatever strength of his own that he could. At some point, her grip slackened. He jolted in his seat and turned to see she was dozing. He sighed. Looking over the ocean below him, he had a crazy impulse to fly them away from all the insanity. Find a little corner of the world and hide away together. A little voice in his head, that sounded like his father, called him a coward for wanting to run away from a fight. If it were just him, he'd agree. But he wasn't running because he feared for his life. He was running because he feared for hers. </p>
<p>He decided to tweak the top item on his to-do list. "Keep Diana happy" was now "Keep Diana safe." He had a bad feeling that he wouldn't be able to do both of them.</p>
<p>Once they got the information about the origins of the stone, about a God of Lies being behind its power, he realized he was on borrowed time. Diana was losing her powers and they had to destroy the stone – destroy Maxwell Lord – or give up their wish. Either way, he would be gone. Barbara had thrown a fit about it and slunk out like a skittish alley cat. And Diana had agreed with her to some extent. He couldn't read the little pictographs in the book but the writing was on the wall. He mulled over everything on their taxi ride back to her apartment.</p>
<p>This wasn't his time or place. He didn't belong. As much as he wanted to, as much as he tried to fool himself into thinking he could slot into her life, he just didn't. He sacrificed himself in 1918 so that Diana could go on and save the world with her gifts. But because of him, her gifts were disappearing. How long until they were completely gone? Would she even have them when she went up against a personification of a trickster god stone? There was a very real possibility that Max would kill her.</p>
<p>She walked briskly and he followed inside the large round building that seemed impenetrable just a few days before. Once inside, he took it all in. The apartment was beautiful and elegant like her. The floor to ceiling windows providing an amazing view of the river and trees below. He could also see the frenzied people, police cars, and distant smoke. He felt guilty.</p>
<p>He walked over to her bookshelf and saw his watch. Her watch now. She kept it all these years. It was still ticking. Time kept going on without him and Diana did too. He smiled seeing the photo of her at his family ranch. She looked so carefree. She had happiness without him. She could survive without him. But the world could not survive without Diana. </p>
<p>He gave himself a moment to feel sorry for himself. He had wanted to drive up to the ranch with her. See his ancestors. Visit the graves of his friends. His family. He had so many things he wanted to do. A thousand mile long list that grew with every passing day.</p>
<p>But he got to see the Lincoln monument. Learn about modern art. Learn about color film, and rocket ships, and escalators.  He got to fly an invisible jet through fire and light with her. He got to see her again. And perhaps that was enough. That the explosion in Belgium wasn't his final ending. That she took care of all these little pieces of his past. Yes, it was enough. He decided he could die a happy man after this epilogue in his life.</p>
<p>She walked towards the window and took in the same view he did just a few minutes before. He had to tell her.</p>
<p>“Diana, I know it's been hard...”</p>
<p>“You don't know.”</p>
<p>“But-”</p>
<p>“You don't.”</p>
<p>“But we... it can't go on like this.”</p>
<p>“I can't talk about this”</p>
<p>“We have to talk about this.”</p>
<p>“Steve, I can't talk about this!”</p>
<p>She threw down her coat, every inch of frustration and helplessness on her face. He could always read her like a book. She tried to turn from him, collect her thoughts. And he waited. He wasn't exactly excited to have this conversation either. Finally she looked at him.</p>
<p>“I give everything I have. Every day. And I'm happy to. But this one thing. You're all that I've wanted. For so long. You're the only joy I've had or even asked for.”</p>
<p>He's not sure what he did to deserve such devotion from her. A goddess falling for a mortal man sounded like something out of a fairytale. There were so many reasons she should let him go. Find someone better because he knew, with absolute certainty, there were better options for her than an army grunt that had been trying to play catch up to a modern world.</p>
<p>Maybe he could've conveyed his thoughts better. He had offered the body he was possessing as a potential replacement (if all the wishes reverted, would the body be dead or would its former soul return?) but as he scrambled for a more decent argument, she argued right back with a stubborn sort of desperation he had seen in wounded, weary soldiers in the trenches steeling themselves for one last charge.</p>
<p>“...I can't give you up. <em>I can't</em>. So I won't, so we need to stop him so we can figure that out. There has to be another way.” She left him, effectively ending their conversation, murmuring to herself, “There has to.”</p>
<p>He knew better than to push on the topic. He had done some really stupid things in his life, but even he knew when to stop arguing for his own execution. He had reached what he thought was a logical conclusion but he let himself cautiously hold on to Diana's hope. Maybe she <em>could</em> find another way. If anyone could, Diana could.</p>
<p>There was a wall of televisions in a small closet-sized room that showed images of different news broadcasts, and even an image of her building doorstep. She had gotten access to her building's security camera. It looked like this was how she tracked crimes. She still saved people. And she still wanted to save him.</p>
<p>He spied something wrapped in canvas cloth. Was this her armor? It seemed awfully large. When he asked about it, she told him about the mythical golden armor of an ancient Amazon warrior named Asteria. Through the lasso of truth, he saw a piece of her past. Her culture. It was more than he could have ever imagined.</p>
<p>“Asteria sacrificed herself for a better day for others,” Diana had said.</p>
<p>He kept that thought in the back of his mind as she turned to her monitors and saw a familiar car headed straight for the White House, traffic parting for the driver like the Red Sea. It was time for one last charge.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm conflating several scenes now because I don't need to devote a single chapter play by play per scene. Especially when the 2 scenes are a build up and confrontation to a single, main conflict (the record store scene and her apartment scene). I also added the plane part at the beginning because their only alone time in between the drama and the action is the hours on that invisible jet. It's a shame Steve has to be concentrating or they could knock out 'join the mile-high club' off his list. Heh.</p>
<p>I'm ready to wind this story down.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Already Gone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Convincing Diana to let him go with her was not an easy task. He refused to stay behind while she put her life on the line, powers waning by the minute. Comparably, getting inside the most powerful office in the United States, if not the world, was remarkably simple. Steve attributed it to the rioting going on outside, though he had thought that would be cause for <em>more</em> security at the White House. Well, he wouldn't complain at having an easier way inside.</p>
<p>Once they gave their little tour guide the slip, they found an empty room and Diana quickly slipped into her armor. She needed all the protection she could get. He took a moment to look over the busts and paintings along the white halls. A small part of him wistful over how this would be the only time he would be inside such an important monument. But he couldn't dwell on things. He had to stay focused on Diana and watch her back.</p>
<p>They stumbled onto Max and several secret service agents crossing into a main hallway. Diana's reflexes were quick with the lasso but as soon as they started shooting, and as soon as she got hit with a bullet, his own reflexes kicked in and he grabbed a metal tray to help block off any more shots. She rebounded, determined but still cautious. Not because she didn't want to get hurt but because she didn't want to hurt the agents who were apparently under Max's control. She wouldn't let him fend them off with a sword but he made due with that surprisingly sturdy, metal tray.</p>
<p>While Diana tossed a bunch of agents around, he managed to wrestle a gun from a guy, realize he wasn't supposed to use lethal force, get the gun wrestled away, and finally he settled for using his fists. They never failed him in a fight before. Soon it was just him and Diana, facing down a cowering Max. Until a new challenger arrived in the form of Barbara Minerva.</p>
<p>He raced up the stairs after Max and captured him, hoping Diana could take care of her turncoat friend and the armed guards gathering below.</p>
<p>“Oh, how sweet,” Max sneered, “Defending your love? What do you wish for? You wanna be a real boy?”</p>
<p>Steve stared him down, ignoring the flicker of 'yes' that passed through his mind when he heard Max's offer. But he pushed it down, knowing all those wishes came with a terrible price. Instead he snapped on some handcuffs he managed to lift from the security guard he fought with earlier. There would be no escaping him. Even as another security guard came to grab Steve, he fought the guy off pretty damn well, if he said so himself. Using Max as a makeshift shield at first, then shoving him around like an overstuffed battering ram.</p>
<p>But all the combat training and battle experience in the world couldn't prepare him for an apparently super-powered Barbara. She tore through the handcuffs, tossed him and Diana away like a couple of ragdolls, and let Max Lord escape like the cowardly snake he was. His body ached but he shook it off when he saw Barbara threatening Diana, who was bleeding and hurt on the ground. He jumped to his feet and rushed over to grab Barbara, hoping for some element of surprise in his favor. Instead he was tossed away once more and she left them amidst the rubble of the White House floor.</p>
<p>His attention turned to Diana, “Are you alright?”</p>
<p>Quick to get his arms around her, he helped lift her to her feet, mindful of her bruises. She rested all her weight on him as they hobbled out, no one daring to stop them after the earth shattering fight they had witnessed. He led the way, vigilant and tense, keeping his grip on her. He had once promised to keep Diana safe. Made it priority number 1 on his list. And after failing to keep hold of Max or take down Barbara, he could at least try to guide her towards some kind of shelter.</p>
<p>They walked through the chaos in the heart of the nation’s capital. Cars overturned. Fires burning. Looters, brawlers, proselytizers. It felt like he was back in 1918 trudging towards The Front. Only these were all innocent civilians. None of these people signed up for war. They didn't even know what was happening. And the worst would be yet to come. He couldn't help Diana beat Maxwell Lord or Barbara Minerva. Not physically. But he knew she could do it. With her powers, she could save them all.</p>
<p>He gathered strength from his memories. Both past and present. Their time was brief and he would have loved to have more. To see more, to do more. To be with her. But if these past few days were all that were in the cards for him, he would be grateful for it. A weary sense of finality fell over him and he felt a strange weightlessness. He had a power of his own. He could leave this body. As easily as he could fly that plane. But he had to hold on long enough for Diana.</p>
<p>“Diana... Diana, listen to me,” he grasped her hands, "I had a great life.”</p>
<p>She shook her head, dazed, “Steve...”</p>
<p>“And you only made it better. But you know what you need to do,” he stared into her eyes, “The world needs you.”</p>
<p>Her head dipped in dawning realization and he tried to comfort her.</p>
<p>“Alright? Yeah.”</p>
<p>He needed her to know it would be okay and it took everything inside him not to lose it as she started to cry. She needed to be strong for everyone else but he would be strong for her as she broke down. She deserved everything good and right after all she did for the world. He knew she could find some kind of happiness without him. She had so much love and compassion to share with others and to receive in turn. Who couldn't love her? She put her hands on either side of his face and he relished the warmth as he kissed her palm.</p>
<p>“I'll never love again,” she sobbed.</p>
<p>“I pray that isn't true,” he whispered, “There is a wonderful, big world out there. This... this crazy new world. And I am so happy I got to see it. But it deserves you.”</p>
<p>His vision was fading. An itchiness around his skin. Something silent was calling him away. Pulling him from this time. From this body.</p>
<p>“I can't say goodbye,” she gasped, still holding on to him. “I can't say goodbye.”</p>
<p>There were so many things he wanted to tell her. He took in her face, heard the softness in her voice, felt the warmth of her hands on his lips. He tried to commit every little detail to borrowed memory. Everything that was Diana.</p>
<p>“You don't have to.” He said his goodbyes on a hangar in Belgium years ago. “I'm already gone.”</p>
<p>Their final kiss was full of pain and heartbreak and love and hope. She turned to face a world on the verge of collapse and if he had any regrets, it was that he couldn't be there to help her in the final battle. </p>
<p>He had enough voice in him to call out, “I'll always love you, Diana. No matter where I am!”</p>
<p>And with that, he made his own silent wish. One that he hoped would be granted without any trickster stone interference. He wished for her to be happy. As he drifted away from the body anchoring him to Earth, his last thoughts were of her. He wasn't sure if he was in Heaven before he was brought back but if he was, he liked to think that maybe he would have some version of Diana when he returned. At least until they met again. Maybe he would see his friends and family up there. He had so much to tell them about saving the world with a wonder of a woman.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>You know what's worse than rewatching the Diana/Steve scenes in the movie for accuracy's sake and crying over the final scene where Steve has to leave again? Working on the final chapter and somehow making myself cry reading my own words trying to convey Steve's thoughts and feelings before he leaves again. I'm, like, betrayed by my own hands for not writing A/U fluff where he stays with Diana for longer than a freakin' week. But maybe for another story...</p>
<p>Thank you very much for reading my first multi-chapter Wonder Woman story. I hope it helps fill in some gaps in the movie (at least from one POV) and make it more enjoyable. Please leave me any comments, thoughts, corrections or whatever else. Whether anonymous or with an account (I'm pretty sure I have anonymous reviews enabled. I don't use this site often so I'll double check).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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